


Wait with a Glacier's Patience

by pratz



Series: This Tornado Loves You [1]
Category: Love Live! Sunshine!!
Genre: F/F
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-12
Updated: 2017-08-12
Packaged: 2018-12-14 08:47:25
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,656
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11779584
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pratz/pseuds/pratz
Summary: In which Kanan decides to stop running around in circles.





	Wait with a Glacier's Patience

Note: prequel to [_Rake the Springtime Across Your Sheet_](http://archiveofourown.org/works/8020747).

 

-.-.-

 

In the middle their somewhat reunion dinner at the [Takami Inn](http://mitoyasudaya.com/), Chika says, “Oh Dia, there’s another gift from your boyfriend at the front desk.”

Across the dining table Kanan sees and, for all the years she’s known Dia, swears she can’t find it possible for a human face to travel in multiple stages of expression the way Dia’s does. First, a fleeting shock. Then, realization of betrayal—or, rather, a perfidious displeasure. Then, ire. Ignorant of it all, seven mouths open at once and shriek, “ _What_.” Chika, ever oblivious n situations where she’s expected to be sharp, only comes up with a monosyllabic response: [“Eh?”](https://youtu.be/KvLvqDUwGQc?t=6m)

The subject of scrutiny herself puts down her bowl and pair of chopsticks with a pretty loud smack, so unlikely of a Kurosawa. “He’s not my boyfriend. Nobody is having a boyfriend right now. Nobody."

“Hey, not everybody is as cursed as you!” Yoshiko protests. Hanamaru grunts under her breath. Ruby turns pale, then green, then red.

Mari slams her own bowl and pair of chopsticks onto the table. “So there _is_ a he!”

Ruby turns even paler. Dia glares at Mari, as if challenging her to dare to spill what’s not supposed to be spilled. At all. Kanan shrinks in her seat on Mari’s behalf.

“How come I’ve never known of this? Scratch that. How come I’ve never met him?” Mari continues, dinner forgotten that Kanan almost feels sorry for their cook of the night, Yō, who herself merely shrugs when Kanan eyes meet hers. Next to her, Riko is smacking Chika on the back of her head. “When this did start? Is he someone from around here? Or did you bring him from the States?” Mari demands. Now Yoshiko and Hanamaru have to calm down Ruby, who looks like she’s on the verge of breaking down as she mutters and mutters how her big sister could do that, how she could, how. “Well, Dia?” Mari challenges, hands on hips.

It is when Kanan knows she has to intercept. “Alright, alright. Mari, why don’t we take a breather outside?” She tugs at the hem of Mari pajama top to pull Mari down to her seat. Once she does, Kanan takes a hold of her arm. She turns to Dia. “Dia?”

Closing her eyes and inhaling deeply, Dia takes her sweet time to agree. Chika mouths a silent apology as the three of them pass her. They leave the room and retreat to the front yard of the inn. Summer night leaves remnants of sweltering heat, and even the ocean breeze feels warm on her face. Evening news have aired a typhoon warning for late night, but Kanan doubts the temperature will go lower much. In the dark across the sea Fuji-san looms. You don’t get to heaven without crossing the stormy sea, she knows.

Dia chooses to stand a little apart from the two of them. Mari folds her hands across her ample chest, pushing her breasts up. Kanan averts her eyes and turns to Dia again. “Let me start by saying that I know it’s not my place to probe into your relationship of any kind,” Mari begins.

“It damn right is not,” Dia scowls.

“I just want to know,” Mari says, yet her tone softening. Familiarity and experience tell Kanan that it’s Mari way to apologize for overreacting—or at least to retract the blow. Her impulsive blond, really.

She stops there. No, really. Not hers in any kind of relationship. Not hers.

“If you think it will mess with my work, I assure you I know my responsibility,” Dia says. Diplomacy is never Kanan’s strongest suit, and it makes her wince to witness that Dia is speaking like she is speaking to her superior. Which is not incorrect. Dia is here, this time, first and foremost as the assistant purveyor manager for the Ohara Group’s Tokyo Branch. A business trip. Dia likes keeping her professional and private life separate. Technically, she doesn’t even work under Mari’s jurisdiction, which is the Bay Area. Virtually, however, she’s speaking to one of the heirs of her employer. Working for a friend, Kanan knows, is not as fun as working with a friend.

Mari opens her mouth to speak but changes her mind and closes it again. She shakes her head a little. Unbound hair flies around her face, and Kanan is tempted to slip it behind Mari’s ears. Mari steps up to Dia, apprehensive, almost timid in her approach. Kanan—and so is Mari—is well aware that Dia is not the most physically affectionate person. Dia chooses when people can approach her, can touch her, can cross that demarcation line between the public and the personal. When she is approachable and touchable, it’s an earned privilege.

Sighing, Dia extends an arm. “Come here,” she says.

Mari dutifully moves closer, loosely clutching Dia’s arm to herself and puts her head on Dia’s shoulder. She nudges Mari’s temple with her nose. Next to them, Kanan clenches and unclenches her hands, unsure of what to do. Mari goes to Dia for approval and support, she gets it. Dia is indeed moving up the corporation ladder smoothly, and Kanan won’t be surprised if Mari does transfer her to the California branch any time soon. And where does that leave you, she often asks herself. She thinks she knows the answer: here, in this city too big for a person and too small for lovers, here, not where Dia and Mari are, nowhere.

“Whatever crazy scenario is going inside this silly head of yours, know that I’m not leaving. Not you, not the company, not anything,” Dia murmurs, kissing Mari’s hair yet keeping her eyes on Kanan.

Kanan blinks. And blinks again. Finding Kanan’s hapless expression over Mari’s head, Dia frowns. Oh. Dia narrows her eyes, an impending warning in her gaze, but she doesn’t say anything. _Ooh_.

“I’ll straight up issue a board’s order to get you transferred to California if you lie,” Mari mumbles against Dia’s shoulder.

“I don’t lie,” Dia states—the way news anchors say there will be a typhoon tonight, the way the head of an amimoto[1] family commands their fishermen. Kurosawas like Dia are born to be listened. It makes Kanan feel twice worse that she makes this kind of person, this best friend of hers, lie for years for another friend’s sake. So not cool, Kanan, she tells herself in her head.

“Deal.” Mari lifts her head, grinning. “Now, to business. Who should I threaten and give the talk to?”

Kanan has expected Dia to dodge the question or even flat out rejecting to answer. She is reduced to being confused again when Dia looks away, blushes, and mutters a name.

“Stephen?” Mari is back to shrieking. “ _My_ Stephen is your boyfriend?!”

“He’s not your Stephen, and we’re not dating. We just,” Dia pauses, “have been looking for new suppliers of green tea together.”

“Oh is that how we call it nowadays? Looking for new suppliers?” Mari snickers.

Dia whole-heartedly pushes Mari to Kanan. “The child is yours, Kanan. Have fun.” Kanan catches Mari, and Dia nods in approval when she sees Kanan has secured Mari by both arms. “I must go rescue my sister before she blows her head with worry or worse.”

The front door to the inn opens and closes behind Dia, leaving only her and Mari outside. Mari leans back further, leaving it to Kanan to support almost all her weight. “Alright, spill,” she says. Her arms lower to wind around Mari’s waist. In this position, Mari is not much taller than she is. Curse the halted growth spurt that leaves her the shortest among the three of them nowadays.

Mari turns her head, eyes twinkling. “I can’t believe it.” She laughs, and its vibration travels to Kanan’s body. “He’s my food and beverage director. Has an excellent taste for authentic Japanese ingredients. Must have met Dia in one of his trips. But you know what, he’s such a nice guy—too nice, even. Gotta give it to Stephen Rogers, really.”

She hums against Mari’s temple. “Is that supposed to ring a bell for me?”

Mari laughs again and turns around in Kanan’s loose embrace. “Let me educate you tonight on the subject.”

And curse her years of longing and holding back for reading Mari’s statement totally far, far from the innocent path.

“Movie night?” Mari asks, straightening herself and leaving Kanan’s arms. Without waiting for Kanan’s answer, she winks. “Don’t be late. Oh, and Kanan?”

“Yes?”

“I hope you don’t forget I’m [left-handed](http://love-live.wikia.com/wiki/Suzuki_Aina).”

Mari opens and closes the door after her, and Kanan sighs. Movie night it is, then.

-.-.-

In the kitchen she helps Yō and Riko do the dishes. Stalling, stalling, the voice in her head singsongs, which she chooses to ignore. Elbow deep in water and suds, she and Yō take turn to hand cleanly washed bowl after bowl to Riko to dry. Once finished, Riko stretches the wet towel and smacks Yō’s arm playfully with it. Yō yelps as she is hit for the second time. “Just wait for my revenge, young lady,” she says.

Riko smiles. “Tell me that when you beat me in our card game.”

“That’s it. You’ll come last.”

“No, Chika will.”

The two of them laugh, and Kanan isn’t sure of what she feels upon finding this easy camaraderie[2] between them. After all, it takes a steel heart to look the tangible representation of colossal heartbreak in the eye. Kanan doesn’t think she can be in Yō’s shoes and stand tall.

Riko leaves the kitchen to get Chika, who’s possibly about to return from walking Shiitake. Sink drained and hands dried, Yō turns to Kanan, hands on hips, jolly as always. “Everything okay with you senior citizens? Things looked kind of intense back then.”

“Oh. That. Just your everyday dose of Mari’s overexcitement. Dia knew she meant well.”

“And you?” Yō jabs a finger into the center of Kanan’s chest.

“Me?”

“Yes, you. You okay?”

She leans against the sink, unable to offer an answer to that. This, she thinks, is what she and Yō share. Sisterhood of the wandering heart, some sort. Except that her heart only wanders to follow the one person it has long decided to wander for. Yō, on the other hand, ever since her colossal heartbreak takes it upon herself to metamorphose from a forlorn heartbroken into a walking heartbreaker. She dates often, changes partner easily, flies from one type to another. Perhaps it’s part of the privilege of being close childhood friends that Kanan one day found Yō wait for her after her meeting with her thesis advisor of the day. A horrible breakup, Yō said. She lied; Kanan found out a few days later that Riko had moved back to Uchiura. Kanan then offered her a pair of sympathetic ears, a couple of drinks on her at the nearest bar, and a drive back to Yō’s apartment. Tokyo will always have but one more seat for another sad drunkard, Yō slurred at that time. The next morning found them together in Yō’s bed, naked safe for their socks and unable to remember details.

“You know, she was there when I first had my Chika problem,” Yō says.

That causes her to raise her eyebrows. “She was?”

“Yep. Great gay crisis detector, I tell you.” Yō laughs at her own joke, and Kanan can give her an amen to that. “Things didn’t work out the way I wanted it, but still. I’m thankful for her pep talk even though it’s just basically all go to her, talk to her, confess to her.”

She bites back a smile at that. Leave it to Mari to take notice of distressed people. Mari the Brave, patron saint of steadfastness and resolve, pursuer of answers. Compared to her, Kanan feels so scared, so dwarfed.

“Did you?” she asked, quieter. Yō never talks about it, but Kanan has a feeling.

“Not the point right now.” Yō shakes her head. “So,” she elbows Kanan, “California it is, I assume?”

She inhales. Deep. Slow. Holds her breath.

“Ah.” Yō nods, elbowing Kanan again. “Congrats, I guess. Or good luck?”

“The latter,” she says, laughing despite herself. Time to go to her, talk to her, confess to her. She does need some good luck.

-.-.-

Twenty minutes into the movie of choice for the night— _Captain America: The Winter Soldier_ , courtesy of Mari, of course—she comes into Mari’s room. The volume is set to low, a standard in a ryokan especially one as old as the Takami’s inn, and the only light in the room comes from Mari’s laptop screen. Sharing a futon, Dia sits with her back against the wall and Mari’s head on her lap. Not the first time, Kanan knows. When she has some extra fund and time to visit Mari and Dia in the States, she often finds the two of them cuddle on the couch in their shared apartment. She also knows Dia often stays with Mari until Mari falls back to sleep whenever she has a nightmare. Kanan thinks again of Yō’s shoes. She swallows.

“You’re late,” Dia states.

“Sorry.” She takes her seat next to Dia, sliding her legs under the blanket.

“Scoot over,” Mari says, rolling from Dia’s lap onto Kanan’s. She pats Kanan’s lap once, twice. “My favorite lap in the world.”

“Gross,” Dia deadpans.

“No raise for you next month,” Mari quips.

“I’m reporting you to the board.”

“I am a board member.” Mari rolls to lie on her back to look at Dia. She looks so smug with that grin Kanan wants to kiss her. “Does Cap know how much of a grumpy head you really are?”

Even in the dim light Kanan can see the flush on Dia’s cheeks. She cups Mari’s cheek to turn her head back to the laptop. “Play nice,” she says.

“Oh I am nice. In fact, I’ve just extended Stephen’s assignment in Japan for two more weeks.”

“You what?” Dia cups Mari’s other cheek to turn her head back to her.

“Board’s order. Tomorrow you’ll go to Uji together to scout our future farm partners.”

Dia bites her lower lip, looking like she’s considering between squishing Mari’s face and running to get her cellphone from her own room. A minute later, she lets go and stands. “Excuse me.”

Surprisingly, Mari’s laugh is genuine, void of teasing. “Off you go, darling.”

Dia rolls her eyes before sliding the paper door closed. “Have a good night, you two,” she says from the outside.

“Love you,” Mari calls. To Kanan, she says, “Stay here tonight. You know I don’t sleep well on my own on futon.”

“Okay,” she agrees. “So what did I miss?”

“Work wise? Nothing you should worry about. The group is thinking of partnering with some local farms in Uji to raise the quality of our premium green tea. Movie wise? Superheroes are screwing the world, the Department of State is run by a terrorist, and the one truly good guy is labeled a fugitive.”

She slides lower under the blanket so that Mari’s head is on her stomach now. “And he remains good?”

“That’s for you to know if you watch ‘til the end.” Mari is quiet for some time before she speaks again, “Not in the mood?”

“Mm. Not really.”

“Wanna talk?”

“Mm. You really okay?”

On her stomach Mari shifts. “Yeah. Told you he’s a good guy.”

She’s not worried about Dia, she wants to say. Then again, she too had many things she wanted to say back when she encouraged Mari to leave Uchiura for the first time. She cried her eyes out in Dia’s room that night. We chose this, and so we would bear this from now on, Dia had said. Kanan had asked so many things from Dia, had wanted so many things from Mari. Now, to add to her selfishness she keeps telling herself that she just wants one thing for Mari.

“Dia’s not going anywhere,” she says and adds, silently, not again. The first time Dia stayed away from Mari, she did it out of loyalty—to Mari’s future and more importantly to Kanan. Nowadays, Dia is the reliable housemate, the only person Mari is familiar and comfortable with across the ocean, confidant, and now most trusted manager. “She’s your right hand.”

“I know.” Despite the reply, uncertainty is clear in Mari’s voice, as if she’s just trying to convince herself. Kanan doesn’t blame her. She really did screw up back then. She assumed, she wanted, and she screwed up. Mari’s trust, like Dia’s approval, is hard earned. Do you think you can trust me again, she’s always wanted to ask. She’s familiar with the scenario: three AM in her cramped apartment in Meguro-ku, two hours after a gathering with her classmates at the school of marine science, nursing an oncoming headache from too much drinking, her heart wandering to a city by the bay across the ocean, to a two-bedroom apartment she sometimes visited, to its two occupants, one more than the other.

Both quiet, they listen to footsteps outside their room. The wooden floor creaks somewhere. Faint laughter filters in from the room below theirs. It’s a card night for Chika, Riko, and Yō. Kanan wonders if Dia is on the phone with the Stephen guy.

Mari shifts and turns, her back now against Kanan’s front. She takes Kanan’s hand and loops it around her waist. Even hindered by the soft material of her night gown, Mari’s skin feels warm. Mari covers Kanan’s hand with hers. “I’m trying not to be afraid,” Mari says. “The two of you shut me out once. I know it was for me and I’ve learned my lesson, but I can’t help being afraid of all the what-ifs. What if the future takes us far away from each other with whatever it sees fit—my work, your study, whatever? What if [our hearts lose their way](http://love-live.wikia.com/wiki/Mijuku_DREAMER)?”

Again, Kanan doesn’t blame her. She presses her palm more firmly on Mari’s stomach. “I’m afraid, too,” she says. Mari and Dia have finished college in the States and have been working in an intense environment ever since, while she’s still a poor graduate student stuck between her study and her loyalty to her hometown. A tiny student lodging with no air conditioner unit doesn’t compare with a two-bedroom luxury apartment overlooking Mission Bay paid in full for four years. Wanting to save marine mammals seems so ridiculous next to actually serving and networking with people from each and every corner of the world.

Mari closes her eyes, lashes so dark against her cheek. “Okay.”

Kanan swallows and wets her lips and, in a minute of nervous bravery, kisses Mari’s cheek. “Okay,” she echoes. “We’re not—” she hesitates, debating herself whether it’s time. “I’m not going anywhere either. Just you wait. Maybe one day I’ll be knocking on your door and telling you I get a research position with the Monterey Bay Aquarium. Maybe we can be next door neighbors in a year or two. Or—or, I don’t know, I’ll—” _go to you, talk to you, confess to you_ , she wants and wants and wants, “—find new species somewhere and name it after you.”

Mari’s response comes in her stroking the back of Kanan’s hand, tender, so tender that Kanan wants to fall asleep to it. Then Mari holds her hand, still gentle, and guides it lower. Kanan tenses, and Mari stops but doesn’t let go of her hand.

“Mari,” she says with a warning.

“Am I too forward?” Mari whispers, and Kanan’s want wars with her reservation. Mari lets out a soft chuckle. “Or will you watch me touch myself instead?” Kanan’s ears burns, her cheeks heating, but before she can say anything Mari continues. “I’ve thought of this a lot. Night and day. When we were apart, when I was alone in a country I didn’t really want to be, when I wished I’d told you I’d wanted to be with you more than I’d wanted to be a school idol. Maybe, I thought, maybe one day you would want me back.”

Unable to speak, she calls Mari once again, almost a whisper, burying her nose in the juncture between Mari’s neck and shoulder. She often imagines Mari, barely seventeen, introduce herself in front of a class full of students who probably wondered who the hell this alien bearing a name of three languages was, go to a party where girls wanted to be like her and boys wanted to be with her, date a cute boy or girl and brought them to an Instagramable café, and forget about a tiny Japanese city by the shore with its forgettable high school and forgettable students. None of those compares to the image of Mari with her legs spread, her own hands between them, bringing herself to a peak or more while thinking about her, merely one of the forgettable students.

Mari’s hand is back on her wrist. “Shall we stop?” Despite everything, her tone is gentle.

“No, I just—” she chokes, a fish out of water, “I want you.” _I’m sorry, please don’t get mad, don’t be disappointed, don’t go, I’m sorry, I’m sorry_ , she means to say. “Dia gets you, I know. Your right hand, right? I want you, I do, but compared to that, who am I? I mean, what does a silly bloke knows about the world— _your_ world? I just—” she takes a deep breath, shuddering against Mari’s frame, “Sorry.” So engrossed in her confessingconcealingconfessing she is that it takes her some time to be aware of Mari’s fingers slipping through hers. Baffled, she raises herself a little to get a better look at Mari’s face.

Mari turns her head and kisses her cheek in return. “Am I not being forward enough?”

The heat that’s been burning her face travels to her neck, chest, and much, much lower. This is the closest she’s ever felt to drowning, Kanan thinks, only that she’s drowning in liquid fire right now. With a growl, she pushes Mari back onto the bed, bodies pressed close, Mari’s hand gripping hers even tighter.

“I—uh—I don’t know what to do.” Out of the many things she can—should—say, that is that.

“I do,” Mari rasps against her throat. A kiss there, then another one, then another. She makes a grab to bring Kanan’s hand to the hem of her night gown. Together they lift it until it’s bunched up on Mari’s waist. Kanan’s hand trembles when it touches the now revealed skin. In the dark she can’t see. Her fingers are her eyes. Too soft, too warm, she thinks.

When her hand dips between Mari’s legs, Mari’s breath hitches but it is she who gasps out. She moves forward and closes the gap between their mouths. Cool, sweet, tender Mari is her favorite taste from now on. Their noses bump, and Mari laughs softly and Kanan almost dies from the sound. Before she can retreat, Mari’s other hand takes hold of her chin, thumb pressing downward so that she opens her mouth, the tip of Mari’s tongue slipping between her teeth. There’s a tongue in her mouth, she thinks—and tries not to panic or, worse, gets too excited. Mari’s tongue is in her mouth, she corrects herself and in no time surrenders to the moment.

She swallows Mari’s gasp when her hand down there presses into the fabric of Mari’s panties. Dainty fingers guide her own, showing her how Mari like, wants, needs to be touched. She follows, rhythm and all, the way only she gets, the way she knows when to envelope Mari in a long hug whenever she’s upset about an unsuccessful move in their dance practice, when to just listen as Mari rants about a bunch of insufferable know-it-alls in her meeting, when to just be there whenever Mari calls, tells her about daytime whereabouts, and waits patiently until a soft snore is heard from the other side of the phone. _I want to be your left hand_ , she thinks. _I’ll be brave, and I’ll be your left hand_.

Mari’s toes curl against her shins, and she goes taut and jerks when her pleasure peaks. Kanan is sure she’ll get bruises from how tight Mari grips her wrist. Mari bows and curls into herself as her body gets the release it searches, Kanan nuzzling her hair and holding her still, not to entice but to appease. When Mari gets her wind back and turns to face her, she kisses the corner of Kanan’s mouth. “Thank you,” she whispers.

This is her answer: she eases her hand from Mari’s, turns the hand, and brings it to her lips, to her chest, to her stomach, and lower and lower.

Mari smiles against her lips.

-.-.-

In the morning they come down to the front desk to find Stephen Rogers talking to Chika’s sister Shima. Upon finding that he is there to pick Dia to the airport, Mari gives him the mandatory break-her-and-I’ll-break-you speech. Stephen takes it good humoredly—Kanan later finds that he has been working for Mari for the last six years, and he is the one who suggests Dia be made supervisor for the trip to Uji. “I’m her superior in title only. She knows the local deal much better,” he reasons.

Dia comes to the front desk with a box in hand, Stephen’s so-called gift from yesterday. It turns out to be samples from several green tea suppliers that they are going to meet in Uji. “I’ve sampled them,” she says. “You have a great taste.” Hiding a snicker behind her hand, Mari announces she’s not in the mood for breakfast, so only Dia and Stephen leave for the Awashima Hotel for breakfast. As they return to their room, Kanan has to ask, incredulously, “Not in the mood for breakfast?”

“What? I’m not here for work; they are. I’m here for a vacation. And you know what the best part of a vacation is? Brunch in bed.”

She rolls her eyes. No self-respecting ryokan like the Takami Inn serves brunch, she knows—and she knows that Mari knows it, too. “Alright, princess.”

“Mmmm. Call me that again.”

“Careful. A spoiled lady is a foul view.”

“Nah, don’t need any good view. I’ve got the best attraction[3] here.” Mari leans on her side as they sit on the balcony, Kanan’s arm loose around her waist.

Kanan is quiet for a while, considering, then she says, “I’m continuing to the Ph.D program.” She tightens holds Mari so that Mari won’t bolt. “And there’s a chance I can do part of my doctoral work in Monterey, though I can’t guarantee it’s all gonna work out.” There are her responsibilities to her grandfather, to her friends, to her colleagues and professors, too. One step at a time, Kanan, she tells herself. You’ve gone to her and talked to her. You can confess to her later. “What say you? Interested in letting a silly bloke crash on your couch?”

“Depends. Will you still name the first new species you discover after me?”

“If you don’t mind.”

Laughing softly, Mari leans her head on her shoulder, and in the distance Kanan can see Fuji-san clearly. The sea is calm, and the breeze is gentle. “Not at all,” Mari says.

It’s a good day to be in love.

 

-.-.-

 

[1] From Dia’s SID. Literally, “netlord.” Akin to Middle Age’s vassalage, in Japan’s coastal areas, an amimoto loans fishing nets to fishermen and collect rents and taxes from them.

[2] From SIF. During the introduction stage, Yō keeps teasing Riko until Riko is blushing and telling she’s beautiful like Snow White.

[3] From SIF. Mari’s line: Kanan is the best attraction in her grandfather’s diving shop.

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> Yes, I know Mari is not left-handed; Ainya is.
> 
> The third years' dynamic on SIF is interesting. Mari is the business woman who makes a more ridiculously expensive dish than the Stewshine, Dia is her thinking technocrat slash handler, and Kanan is her happy-go-lucky enabler. SID's Dia is even more interesting. Included in the many things she's pondering often are the future of the city, marriage prospect (for Ruby as well), and her responsibility to the family.


End file.
